Lingering
by Lord Cellytron
Summary: Klinger's promotion is just the beginning! Charles finds him annoying as ever... but a conversation leads to a bit more, and all the camp's abuzz. Slash!


Title: Lingering  
  
Rating: PG   
  
Pairing: Charles/Klinger  
  
A/N: An experiment. The episode "Promotion Commotion" is one of my favorites, and this fic was inspired by the sequence where the bitter, angry corporal who had it in for Charles is run out of town. There was something about the look on Charles' face... well, read on.   
  
  
  
  
  
***  
  
Here begins the first full day following the promotion of Sergeant Maxwell Q. Klinger.   
  
---  
  
  
  
*SPLAT*   
  
"Oh.. Sorry about that, Captain. But what else can you expect from a lowly private?" Igor exclaimed indignantly, nearly bursting with pride at his insubordinate action.   
  
BJ looked at the area of his shirt which had just moments earlier been as clean as he ever kept his clothes, and now was splattered with a heaping spoonful of mashed potatoes. He then turned to Hawkeye, and the two men met eyes as a gravy-splattered round meat-like object sailed over their heads and someone from behind them moaned with annoyance at having missed their target.   
  
"I guess we have a pretty good idea who DIDN'T get promoted..." BJ said uselessly.   
  
***   
  
Klinger flung open the door to the swamp as carelessly as he always did when on his mail rounds, and he happily danced into the room, singing loudly and holding several envelopes addressed to the swamp's inhabitants. He twirled around, dropping the mail in haphazard piles on the beds.   
  
First, Hawkeye's bed. Nothing interesting for him, it seemed.   
  
BJ's bed came next, and Klinger drew back his hand and tossed the letters like a Frisbee, watching with jaded pleasure as they flapped and fluttered in the air and landed with a lovely "floop" on the neatly made bed.  
  
Oh, how much more lovely everything seemed; even a mundane task such as mail call seemed to positively glow with the knowledge of those 3 perfect stripes on his sleeve. How he ever managed to live so long as a measly corporal, he had no idea. But now he knew what everyone meant when they talked about the pride that the army could give a man. It was true, indeed, and he sighed happily as he spun on his heel to toss the final bits of mail onto Major Winchester's bed and scoot along on his way.   
  
He barely noticed that the bed was still occupied, only pausing a second to briefly acknowledge the presence of a man wearing pajamas and a black mask, and then he gave a hearty toss and flung the letters across the mattress.   
  
Unfortunately, it wasn't his best toss and one of the letters zipped right across the bed and smacked the sleeping Charles right in the nose. He groaned with irritation and muttered angrily.  
  
"Whoop!! Run for your lives! It's raining mail!! Not the good kind, either! No sir, ladies and germs, these are not birthday cards from your Aunt Elm!" He exclaimed, noting the major's awakening and deciding that a little annoyance would get him off the hook as quickly as anything else he could possibly concoct.   
  
Besides, he noted with amusement, if there was anything that he enjoyed, it was getting a rise out of Charles. It was so damned easy to do, and as much as Klinger enjoyed the rare moments when Charles was personable to him, he had a special place in his heart for those angry, flashing blue eyes and the self-righteous words that his strong voice flung out so bitingly when angered.   
  
He meekly admitted to himself that he'd often spent a good several moments staring at Colonel Potter's painting of Charles and sighing heavily, wishing that he had all eternity to gaze into his eyes, furious as they were.   
  
Charles rose with annoyance and lifted one side of his sleeping mask. When he saw the company clerk standing in his presence, his irritation increased and he ripped the mask off and took a haughty position.   
  
"Klinger, what exactly are you doing?" He asked.   
  
"I'm very glad you asked me that, Major! Very glad indeed. You see, I was just standing here, thinking to myself, 'Good Heavens, Sergeant Maxwell Q. Klinger, what exactly are you doing? I don't have any idea!' It was terribly traumatic to think that here I am, delivering mail and I don't have any idea what I'm doing. Is this even your mail, sir? It could be Major Houlihan's, and how would I ever know?"   
  
"Goodness, we certainly are blithe this morning." Charles replied, scanning his letters and reaching for a letter opener.   
  
"No, sir! Wait! Think about what you're doing!! Think of my children!!" Klinger exclaimed, jumping backwards at the sight of the elegantly-crafted blade.   
  
Charles ignored him and sliced open the letter, reading it dispassionately. When he finished, he neatly folded it and put it back in the envelope. A moment later he realized that Klinger was still there and he looked at him callously.   
  
"What are you still doing here?"   
  
"Nothing at all, Major. In fact, I was just leaving."   
  
"How convenient for me. I was just going to throw you out."   
  
Klinger held his head exaggeratedly high. "You seem to forget, Major! You can't toss me around like a mere plaything anymore! I'm a real CO now! Sergeant Klinger... it lingers on the palate oh-so-enticingly, doesn't it? I could say it a thousand times and never tire of the words. 'Sergeant Klinger'... Sergeant Klinger. Yes, sir, Sergeant Klinger reporting for duty, sir. Why, we couldn't have done it without Sergeant Klinger! Sergeant Klinger is the sexiest man in the army, my dear, and I don't give a damn--"   
  
"Sergeant, please." Charles said with irritation.   
  
"See what I mean, Major? It slides off the tongue very pleasurably!"   
  
"That it does; and if you value that tongue, I recommend you get out."  
  
Klinger lifted one eyebrow and put a hand on his hip. "Well, that's some way to talk to Sergeant Klinger!"   
  
"It certainly is."   
  
"Humph! Well, the Sergeant will leave you then, and bid you a fond adieu, oh belligerent follicly-challenged one."   
  
"Bye-bye." Charles said, never looking up from the envelope he was opening.   
  
Klinger strode out the door and continued on his way to Major Houlihan's tent. Pulling out the letters she'd received, he realized he'd overlooked a piece of Charles' mail. A rather important piece, and one he was sure to want.   
  
"Oh darn." He said, stroking the envelope lovingly. "Now I have to go all the way back there." He smiled a secretive, devilish grin and his heart missed a few beats as he turned back toward the Swamp.   
  
Of course, he couldn't just admit his "mistake" and hand the letter to Charles, as any civil person would do. That would be far too easy, after all.  
  
He opened the door and happened to enter just as Charles was pulling the covers of his bed up. The letters remained mostly unopened and had been placed on his neat bedside table.   
  
"Say, Major..." Klinger began.  
  
'Klinger, have I ever told you of my theory that states that the more chevrons one has on their sleeve is inversely proportional to how tolerable they are to be with?" Charles asked him.   
  
"Why, no. How does that one go?"   
  
"What do you want?"   
  
Klinger shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, sir, I was in the neighborhood..."   
  
"No, Klinger. Try again."   
  
"Okay, okay. I'll be honest with you. May I be frank, Major?"   
  
"I have neither the time nor the resources to attempt to stop you."   
  
"Well... you see... Major..." Klinger frowned, searching for words. "Can I sit down?"   
  
Charles barely had a chance to blink before Klinger plopped down on top of his bed. Shocked and repulsed, Charles stepped backwards. "Klinger.... surely... you haven't come to me for some sort of.. guidance?!"   
  
Klinger looked up, an emotion in his eyes that Charles couldn't place, and it gave him an uneasy feeling. For, surely this couldn't be what it appeared to be; and that was someone coming to Charles for advice. He was poor at empathizing with people, for all his medical training and the fact that he was occasionally known to have a heart couldn't eclipse the sheer, undebatable truth that most of the time he just didn't care about other peoples' petty inner turmoil. Hadn't he made that well-known enough throughout the camp? When someone wanted advice, they went to Colonel Potter or Father Mulcahy! When they wanted a shoulder to cry on, they went to.. well, he didn't exactly know, but it most certainly was not and never had been him.   
  
So what did Klinger think he was doing, coming here when he obviously had something he wanted to open up about? It was true that he had begrudgingly gained a good deal of respect for the former corporal, even though he'd sooner die than admit it now. They had hardly ever done anything socially and spent most of their time in each other's company arguing or ignoring each other. Oh, sure... there were times when Charles found himself drawn to Klinger's good humor and... oh, sure, one could argue that Charles was rather impressed with the metamorphosis that had occurred, transforming Corporal Maxwell Q. Klinger, the irresponsible, flighty cross-dresser into Sergeant Maxwell Q. Klinger, a competent, scheming but mostly well-meaning company clerk. And, oh, if there was to be a bearing of souls about it, Charles might as well admit that he'd never hesitated for a moment when it came time to promote him. It was simple common sense, though, and it had to be obvious that there was no mistaking an acknowledgment of achievement with a gesture of friendship. It had to be plainly obvious.   
  
Still, there was no way around the fact that Klinger was here, sitting on his bed, looking as if he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. How irritating it was, but Charles sighed and knew that it wouldn't hurt him to listen with a half-interested ear and provide some stale, cliched reassurance. It was not the sort of thing he often did, but then again, he supposed he at least owed Klinger that much after...  
  
He frowned. Damn. Damn!! Damn that corporal whatever his name was and his mad lust for a promotion. Charles shuddered as he recalled the hulking brute and his vengeful wrath. How did the army ever find people like that?!   
  
Of course, there had been no word of the man since yesterday, and Charles was inwardly grateful to Pierce, Hunnicutt and Klinger for their valiant rescue. He'd said nothing of the sort yet out of embarrassment, but once he got around to it... he'd get around to it.   
  
"All right, er... Max? What is it I can do for you?" He forced himself to say, shifting from one foot to the other.   
  
Klinger sighed, shaking his head. "I'm... really not sure how to say this, Major."   
  
"Oh... well... there's.. no shame. Just... let the words come." Charles said, stilted dialogue though it was.   
  
"Would you... sit down?"   
  
"I beg your pardon?"   
  
Klinger swallowed. "It sort of makes me nervous when you just stand there. I'd be more comfortable if you'd sit down."   
  
Charles looked around with confusion, but decided there was no harm in having a seat. It possibly entailed a longer conversation, but that was a bridge he'd just have to cross when he came to it. He smiled tightly and sat down on his bed, leaving almost a foot of space between the two of them. No harm, after all, it was his own bed.   
  
"There, is that... erm... better?"   
  
Klinger looked at him and nodded. "I'm sorry, Major, I must look like such a fool. Pretending to be so happy when inside my heart is breaking."   
  
Charles' eyes widened and he shifted uncomfortably. It was worse than he could have imagined it would be, and he suddenly found himself praying for an interruption, ANY kind of interruption. Choppers, an explosion, Pierce and Hunnicutt, anything.   
  
"Erm.... Klinger... are you... quite certain that I'm the man you ought to be talking about this with?" He said, trying to be diplomatic.   
  
"Oh, sir... I'm so sorry. Your time is so valuable, after all. You're right... I'm sorry."   
  
Well, that was settled! And very quickly, too. Charles thought he ought to be breathing a sigh of relief at having dealt with this problem so swiftly.  
  
However, that wasn't entirely how he felt. He felt strangely guilty at casting aside this poor soul in his darkest hour. How uncharitable of him.   
  
"Oh, for god's sake, Klinger. Go on, just tell me what's bothering you. I won't throw you out." He spat out, before he could stop himself.  
  
"Sir, do you mean it?" Klinger asked, looking strangely happy. His eyes were alive with a strange brilliance, and Charles felt his heart sinking.   
  
"Well... I suppose so. I simply meant... I'm hardly a good person to come to for sympathy..."   
  
Klinger shook his head. "Oh, sir, I'm sure you're marvellous."   
  
Marvellous.   
  
"Well... what is it, then?" Charles asked, a look of what he hoped could pass for sympathy in his eyes.   
  
Klinger took a deep breath and expelled it feverishly. What he would do now, he had no idea.   
  
It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision he'd made, to put on this guise of distraughtness, and now that he'd gotten enough shocked and sympathetic looks to last him a lifetime, it was all he could do not to burst out laughing and run out of the tent. How cruelly he toyed with the hearts of people. Had he really just put on this entire act just because he could?   
  
Oh, of course he had. After all, despite his coming up in the world, and despite the fact that his undying desire for a Section 8 was no longer a factor, he still had a way of using other people to get what he wanted. In most cases, he quickly lied or unsuccessfully flattered. In some cases, he begged. In this case, he fell into a position of helplessness and found the result to be much more appealing than he'd anticipated. It hadn't worked this well in years, most certainly. Nearly everyone else was able to see through his occasional charades and they'd surely laugh him out of Korea if he'd tried this sort of thing.  
  
For some reason though, with Charles, it worked. And that baffled him. Disoriented him. What would he do now?   
  
Ah! A mental finger-snap, and he knew exactly what he'd do.   
  
"Sir... I've heard people talking.. and I... I don't know if what they say is true... but I'm just beside myself with worry." He said woefully.  
  
Charles looked puzzled, and Klinger closed his eyes and continued.   
  
"You see.. sir... what DO they do with a drunken sailor? I've heard that they throw him in the river... but gosh, sir.. sailors have such nice clothes! Those nice navy blues and the adorable little sailor ties... sir, must we really live in a world in which such inhumanity goes on?!"   
  
Charles' expression had turned in an instant and now Klinger was face-to-face with a true, honest-to-god man who wanted to kill him. He blinked a couple of times, hopefully looking enticing and innocent.  
  
"Klinger..." He began, his voice heavy with rage.   
  
"Oh, jeez, Major. The reason I came back is because I forgot to give you this. How was I supposed to know you'd be so gentlemanly and take little old me in for tea and a heart to heart?" Klinger asked casually, holding out the letter.   
  
"Is this some ridiculous plot of Pierce's?"   
  
"Ridiculous?! You fell for it!"   
  
"What exactly was this supposed to accomplish?!" Charles snatched the letter out of Klinger's hand.  
  
"I don't know, exactly. I guess I just wanted to test out my wings. After all, a sergeant can't go around using the same tricks he used as a corporal!"   
  
"Was not your swift and ingenious disposal of that brutish corporal enough of a test for your 'wings'?" Charles asked with a bit of humor in his voice.   
  
Klinger frowned. "Well... that wasn't all me, though."   
  
"It was enough you." Charles said automatically, scrutinizing the letter before he realized he'd given out what could be misconstrued as a compliment.   
  
Klinger was quiet for a second, looking at his hands. "Yeah, now that I think about it, that was some fine work! Say, Major, it wouldn't be too forward of me to tell you that you inspire greatness, would it?"   
  
Charles rolled his eyes. "For god's sake, Klinger. Stop trying to suck up. I hold no grudge against you. A man would be a boor to bear a grudge under these circumstances. It will be slightly less difficult to express my thanks to Pierce and Hunnicutt since they rarely listen to me anyway, and since you're here anyway, I may as well..."   
  
"Major!" Klinger exclaimed. "Another word of kindness from you and I shall surely swoon!"   
  
"Do shut up."   
  
"Ah, thank you, Major. That set the ol' equilibrium right again."   
  
Charles sighed exasperatedly. "Klinger, thank you. I am most appreciative of your timely intervention yesterday."   
  
"Ohhh, Major! That was so.. so beautiful... it was just as if you read it from a cue card!"   
  
"You know, abusiveness is not becoming of an officer." Charles said reproachfully.   
  
"I beg to differ! I think it's verrry becoming of you." Klinger practically purred.   
  
"What is that supposed to mean?!"   
  
"Nothing, Major. nothing at all. You're most welcome, it was a pleasure to do it. I'm charging you for the cost of my other jacket. The one I gave him. It'll come out of your next paycheck." Klinger said it so monotonously that at first it seemed that Charles hadn't even noticed what he said. He was planning to repeat himself when Charles looked up slowly and met his eyes.   
  
"You gave him your jacket?!" Charles asked suddenly.   
  
"Well, yeah... there weren't too many just lying around. Didn't it look a little... snug for him?"   
  
"I.. didn't notice."   
  
"Tsk, tsk. And you call yourself--"   
  
He was cut off by the sudden sensation of a hand on his shoulder. And since there was no one else in the tent, through process of elimination he concluded that the hand must belong to Charles. But whether or not its owner was responsible for the actions of his hand was another story.   
  
Taking a look at Charles' face, he was shocked when he saw an earnest expression that was more regretful than anything else. Silence ruled for a moment, and Klinger hoped that his rapid heartbeat was not audible.   
  
"You... really are a good person, Max."   
  
Klinger was so stunned at the words that the first thing out of his mouth was "I am?"   
  
"I know how much your promotion means to you, and you needn't have made that sacrifice for me."   
  
Klinger shook his head, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Sir.. I'm speechless. Honestly! Completely speechless! Words truly fail me... and I don't know that anything I could say, were I able to speak, would do justice to the emotion I feel at this moment--"   
  
"Klinger, be quiet."   
  
"Yes sir!"   
  
"Thank you. As I was saying..."   
  
"Oh, Major... your eyes." Klinger blurted out suddenly. He realized his error and damned his absurd daydreams that so vibrantly echoed of this very moment. He'd spent more time than he'd like to admit dreaming of a scenario almost identical to this one, and at some point the romantic schoolboy in him had always found it appropriate to comment on Charles' eyes, usually before their passionate first kiss. That he had said such a thing in real life was absolutely mortifying, and he frantically wondered how he could explain it.  
  
"What about my eyes?" Charles asked, faltering. He actually found it rather amusing in the way that all non-sequiturs are amusing. It came from so far out left field that he wondered if he'd actually heard it correctly.   
  
"Uh... they're... so blue. So... very blue. Like the... the sky. The sky... is blue."   
  
Charles was silent for a moment, and then he simply decided to pretend he hadn't heard that.   
  
"As I was saying.... erm... Klinger, I would like to.. erm... to..."   
  
"Major, do you remember that time when we were trapped with those wounded men all night and we thought we were lost and going to die?" Klinger exclaimed, filling the silence and hopefully taking all attention off of his slip-up.   
  
"Of course I do. One doesn't forget something like that."   
  
"Exactly what I thought." Klinger concurred.   
  
And then, there was silence.   
  
"I recall you still wore a skirt then. It was nearly freezing all night and you actually complained very little." Charles mused.   
  
"Well, Major, you did give me one of your shirts to use as a blanket, remember?" Klinger asked with the same tone of voice one usually reserved for reminiscing about a baseball game or going fly fishing with their son. It was always an experience that he looked back upon fondly, although at the time it had been a complete nightmare.  
  
Charles frowned. "What?"   
  
"Oh, come now Major! Set the scene in your mind, recall the sights, the sounds, the smells..."   
  
"You knew about that? How?"   
  
"Knew about what?"   
  
Charles put his head in his hand momentarily. "The shirt, Klinger. You knew about the shirt?!"   
  
"What's not to know?"   
  
Charles sighed. "I only gave you that damned shirt because I thought you were asleep! I took it back before you woke up, you camel-footed gnome!"   
  
Klinger smiled widely and his head felt light and airy. "Maaaajor, do you mean to tell me you did that out of the goodness of your heart and you didn't want me to know about it?"   
  
"Don't flatter yourself! I saw that you were fool enough to wear a skirt and I knew if your legs were frostbitten you'd be completely useless to me. I'd sooner die than carry you around!"   
  
"That was a very nice skirt, wasn't it?" Klinger asked dreamily.   
  
Charles didn't answer. He'd just been thinking that same thing. It really was a very nice skirt.   
  
"Oh, Major... a man's legs are the most important part of his sex appeal, especially if he's a skirt-wearing man like I once was. Had my legs been frostbitten I surely would never have had the opportunity to experiment with all the hem lengths I did. I'd be an abomination, never able to show my legs in public again!"   
  
'If you'd worn pants like any sensible person, that would have never been an issue!"   
  
"But I didn't wear pants, and thanks to you, I'm still the best looking skirt in this entire camp."   
  
Charles closed his eyes in a "serenity now" type of gesture and took his hand off of Klinger's shoulder, where it had been resting for the entire conversation.   
  
"Klinger, as... enlightening as this conversation has been.. on so many levels..."   
  
"I still have mail to deliver. Major Houlihan's probably going postal! Oh... ha ha.. listen to me. I made a joke." Klinger lingered on the bed for another second, and then stood up, sighing.   
  
"How unusual. We've been sitting here for nearly 45 minutes." Charles said with shock in his voice. "You and I, speaking together for nearly 45 minutes. Of our own free will."   
  
"You think the army is going to want their time back?" Klinger asked.   
  
"I surely do not intend to reimburse them."   
  
Klinger nodded thoughtfully. "Well, besides, what's 45 minutes between friends?"  
  
Charles pondered the statement for a moment, and then he got to his feet. He'd always been so much taller than Klinger and in every one of those damnable reveries he'd had, Klinger had had to stand nearly on his toes to reach the proper height for a kiss.   
  
Of course, Klinger knew that nothing of that sort was going to happen here, but still he wondered why exactly they were both standing.   
  
"Well... uh... guess I better get going." he said half-expectantly. "So much mail, so little time..."   
  
"You know... you mentioned my eyes earlier. I believe I just now noticed yours. They are fascinating."   
  
Klinger gulped. "They are?"   
  
"Well... certainly... I'm telling you this in a strictly professional capacity, of course."   
  
"Oh, oh, yeah."  
  
Even more silence, and suddenly and unexpectedly Charles started snickering, putting his hand over his mouth and looking away.   
  
"What? What's so funny?" Klinger demanded to know.   
  
"Oh, nothing! Nothing! It's just that... we're standing here, offering compliments as demurely as if we were courting each other. I almost felt like a nervous schoolboy offering a single rose to the loveliest girl in school."   
  
Klinger smiled at the thought, and smiled even wider when the "loveliest girl in school" part sunk in. Of course, it was just an analogy and he'd be a complete fool to take it literally, but that such a term had even been applied to him, even indirectly, was highly amusing.   
  
"It's strange, isn't it?"   
  
"Terribly strange."   
  
"Well... you know... if we *were* courting..." Klinger found himself saying, but Charles' enthusiastic laughter stopped him in his tracks.   
  
"Klinger, please. You should know by now that a Winchester would never.... NEVER." He paused. "And... even if he did, well... you aren't exactly my... erm..."   
  
"Not your type. You'd like a fancy boy, with a haughty accent and the posture of a pencil. And he'd have to have a name like Stephen and be able to pose as your 'ward'. Right?"   
  
"Well, if you had any tact at all, you wouldn't have said that, but yes! Exactly!"   
  
"So, no single rose then?"   
  
Charles looked at him strangely, cocking his head slightly. "I don't believe I'd know where to obtain one."   
  
"Well, I could take one off one of my dresses. It's silk and it's pink, but it's a rose."   
  
"What would be the point of doing that?"   
  
"Just... a gesture of good will, Major."   
  
"Is that how gentlemen show good will in Toledo? By tearing faux flowers from their clothes and giving them to each other?"   
  
"Hey, you're the one who came up with the single rose thing, not me!"   
  
"Well, it was a poor analogy, and certainly not to be taken literally!!"   
  
"Oh. Well, pardon me for not knowing a poor analogy from a good one."   
  
"Klinger, I believe you've forgotten the mail again."   
  
"Yes, I have!" He snorted indignantly.   
  
At that moment the door flew open and Major Margaret Houlihan angrily entered the Swamp.   
  
"Good morning, Margaret..." Charles said pleasantly.   
  
"Klinger, do you have any idea what time it is?! I've been waiting for my mail for almost an hour now! What's the delay?"   
  
Klinger swallowed, and then silently handed her the mail he'd meant to give her so long ago. She snatched it and turned to leave, but something stopped her and she turned back to the two men, curiosity in her eyes.   
  
"Major Winchester, is something wrong?" She asked.   
  
"Nothing at all, Margaret? Why should you ask?" He replied, laughing a bit.   
  
"Oh, well... it's just that you looked a little flushed. Are you feeling all right?"   
  
"I feel fine, Margaret." Charles said pointedly.   
  
"Well let me see then..." She took the back of her hand and felt his forehead. "No, no fever. Why is your face so red?"   
  
"I don't know. Perhaps it's warm in here." He said, annunciating the syllables with annoyance.   
  
"I think it feels just fine!" Klinger exclaimed, prompting a glare from Charles and an inquiring glance from Margaret. She put her hand on his forehead too and found nothing out of the ordinary.   
  
"Well, this is sort of strange. Both of you seem to have increased blood flow to your head, but neither of you are sick. How unusual."   
  
"Margaret, is there anything else I can do for you?" Charles prodded.   
  
"Wait a minute! Could it be..." And she burst into laughter. "That... oh my god! Charles, are you blushing?!"   
  
"OF COURSE NOT!"   
  
"Both of you are! Oh, this is funny. What's going on?" Her light laughter filled the tent and Charles and Klinger shared a similar desire to impale her on the flagpole.   
  
"Nothing! I'm leaving!" Klinger announced with a slight whine in his voice. He rode out of the Swamp on waves of hysterical laughter and embarrassment.   
  
Charles was left with Margaret, and he tried desperately to compose himself, but she couldn't stop laughing and she finally had to lean against the wall because she wasn't able to breathe.   
  
"All RIGHT, Margaret, you've made your point!"   
  
"I'm... I'm so--" She began, but broke into giggles again. "It's just... you were both.... what... heed hee.."   
  
"You're making much more out of this than there is. We were just having a conversation! We were not... *blushing*."   
  
"The hell you weren't!! What were you talking about?"   
  
"It is none of your business!!"   
  
She breathed deeply and managed to straighten her face for a minute. "Was he with you the whole time he was supposed to be delivering mail?!"   
  
"Why, yes, he was!" Charles responded automatically. When he realized the implications of this statement, he laughed nervously. "Well... er... perhaps not the ENTIRE time!"   
  
"I can't believe it! You two have gone and gotten chummy! I never thought I'd see the day."   
  
"Margaret, we are not CHUMMY."   
  
"Oh no? It's amazing, you two looked like nervous kids discussing which girls they think are cute. I didn't even think you were capable of that sort of hazy, dreamy stare."   
  
"I had no sort of 'hazy, dreamy stare'." Charles exclaimed indignantly.  
  
"You sure did. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were completely smitten with someone. I can't imagine it!" She took her leave at that moment, still laughing a bit.   
  
Charles was left standing alone, wondering what he'd done in a previous life to deserve this.  
  
***  
  
"Attention, all personnel! Incoming wounded! Take those fancy new stripes and tie up your lunch, this one's gonna be an all day job!"   
  
***  
  
"Clamp."   
  
"You know, I think that I'm going to write a letter to my congressman about these conditions we're forced to work in. No soft jazz to work to, no vending machines in the lobby..." Hawkeye trailed off.  
  
"No lobby." BJ added helpfully.  
  
"And they keep sending in these people to bleed all over our lovely white clothes. I think someone really ought to know about this!"   
  
"I say we start a union."   
  
"I say we send Igor and Rizzo to medical school and stow away in their suitcases."   
  
The door burst open and Klinger rushed in, his feet unusually loud and clicky against the floor. "Grand news, ladies and gentlemen! Only one more to go. Who's going to be the lucky sergeon?"   
  
Charles turned around and peeled off his gloves. "I imagine that would be me. Pierce and Hunnicutt are still working on walking and chewing gum at the same time."   
  
"Oh, listen to Doctor Windtunnel over there. Gum... let's put that in the letter, too. No decent gum. Last stick of Wrigley's I got my hands on was probably at the bottom of George Washington's boots." Hawkeye mused.   
  
Klinger disappeared back out the door, click-clicking his heels gaily. Potter turned around curiously and frowned. "That boy's wearing heels."   
  
"Isn't that sweet? Our little Max is a big girl now." BJ said.   
  
"I thought he'd gone back to shopping in the mens' petites department." Potter replied.   
  
Margaret brought Potter a fresh supply of gauze and barely stifled a giggle. "Major Winchester, what do you think about that?"   
  
Charles didn't even look up. "About what?"   
  
"Klinger's wearing a dress today. He hasn't worn one in months, and now all of a sudden he's trolling around in heels again."   
  
"Maybe he just felt festive. I know that as soon as I get done here, I was thinking about going nude the rest of the day." Hawkeye shrugged.   
  
"Well, apparently you weren't aware of what I saw in your tent earlier today." Margaret practically sang.  
  
"Margaret, you act like a little girl in a candy store! Why won't you forget about it? I told you, we were simply having a discussion!"   
  
The door opened and several corpsmen wheeled in a patient. Klinger happily trotted behind them, waiting to wheel away Charles' finished patient. He stood there a moment, tapping his toe on the floor. Charles glanced at him with annoyance, and Klinger smiled widely behind his mask.   
  
"What are you doing?" Charles asked.  
  
"Just waiting for you to finish, Major." He tossed his head and the old nurses' cap which he had on nearly fell off.   
  
Charles' eyes narrowed as he heard Margaret laughing behind him.   
  
"Klinger, whatever it is you're doing, this is neither the time nor the place." Charles snapped through gritted teeth.  
  
"I have no idea what you're talking about!" Klinger exclaimed, taking the sides of the cart and walking away. Charles looked after him incredulously and saw that he was indeed wearing a knee-length white skirt and dingy white pumps.   
  
"Did you see that?! How exactly can you explain that away, Charles?!" Margaret exclaimed, approaching him meaningfully.  
  
"I don't need to explain anything away, Margaret. I was not aware of his decision to dress that way, nor am I to be held responsible."   
  
"I don't get it. What did happen in our tent?" BJ asked.   
  
"Oh, you won't believe it!" Margaret cried.   
  
"He most certainly will. Nothing happened in our tent. Klinger and I--"   
  
"Were in there for almost an hour! Talking! Like friends! My mail was so late I had to come looking for it, and I found him in your tent, talking to Charles and BLUSHING!"   
  
"Well, thank you, Margaret." Charles finished, fuming.  
  
Hawkeye burst into a giggle. "What?! Margaret, are you serious?!"   
  
"Of course! I couldn't believe my eyes!"   
  
"Did you manage to catch any of the conversation?" BJ asked.  
  
"Not a bit... I can only imagine what they were talking about!"   
  
"We were talking about--" Charles began, but Hawkeye cut him off.  
  
"Were they drunk?!"   
  
"I don't think so..."   
  
"OF COURSE WE WEREN'T DRUNK! AND... And I'll thank you to kindly keep your prying little noses out of my business!"   
  
"That's enough, Winchester. Save that energy for the patient. Margaret, why don't we keep the gossip to a minimum, hmm?" Potter interjected.   
  
"I'm sorry, sir."   
  
Hawkeye was still snickering, turning around every so often to look at Charles and feed his amusement.   
  
***  
  
About an hour later, Charles sat down exhaustedly on the rather welcoming bench in the scrub area and sighed deeply as he removed his scrubs and mask.   
  
He was followed by Potter, and fortunately for him it was just the two of them. Hawkeye and BJ had finished several minutes before and taken off eagerly.   
  
"I'm getting too old for this.." Potter said to himself. It was the kind of thing he said often and he didn't expect any sort of an answer. Charles didn't intend to give him one, either.   
  
A moment of silence went by, and Charles could hear Margaret laughing from a distance. He glared in her direction and got to his feet. To be out of there before she came looking for him was his goal, and he'd nearly made it out before Potter's curiosity got the better of him and he asked what was up.  
  
"So, Winchester. Is this true, what Margaret says? You and Klinger have become kindred spirits at last?"   
  
"Oh, Colonel... it's... not for me to say."   
  
"Well, I just find it curious. The boy's made a lot of progress around here, you know. I haven't heard the words 'section 8' more than a dozen times since Radar left, and he's really made a place for himself among our little family here. You understand what I'm saying?"   
  
"I... believe so."  
  
"Well, let me give it to you straight. One day, Klinger's a great company clerk. He manages a promotion, which I believe he deserved. Next day, he comes to the OR in a skirt and heels and there's talk of some sort of funny business between him and you. So, you have anything to say about this? This some sort of prank, or something?"   
  
"C..Certainly not! I told you, I have nothing to do with Klinger's attire!"   
  
"Well, I can't pretend to know what's going on in your head, Winchester, but I will say something for Margaret's story. You're redder than Geronimo right now."   
  
Charles' hand flew to his face, and to his dismay he found the skin rather warm to the touch. He groaned and turned away. "Colonel, I believe I may be ill..."   
  
Potter chuckled in response and put one hand on his hip. "I know all about that sickness, son. Usually happens right around the springtime, when the birds are chirping, the flowers are blooming, and a young man's thoughts turn hazy and flowery. Used to feel the same way when I was courting Mildred. I must have looked like I had a sunburn to beat all sunburns, and it only came up when I thought about her."   
  
Charles' eyes widened at Potter's implication, and he whirled around indignantly. "Colonel! With all due respect, I don't like where this is going!"   
  
"Calm down, Winchester. I'm just reminiscing. Allow an old man that much."   
  
"But..."   
  
"Don't get me wrong about this, Major. I've had a lot of male friends in my day. Have to, they're the only ones you can get really close to without thinking the wrong thing. Of course, there are people who do. Think the wrong thing, that is. It's more common than you probably know. I've seen plenty of it, even though it's taboo back in the States. Sometimes there's just something between two people... You understand what I'm saying, Major?"   
  
"I... I'm not certain."   
  
"I'm just saying that if there is something that you'd rather not make known, don't make it known. Army romances have a way of leaking out, and..."   
  
Charles scoffed with disbelief. "R..ROMANCES?! Surely... you jest!"   
  
Potter shrugged. "My lips are sealed, my mind is a clean slate." He patted Charles on the shoulder and departed.   
  
***  
  
"KLINGER!!!!" Charles roared, storming into the company clerk office and letting the door slam behind him. He scanned the room for any signs of the short Lebanese man, and finally he spotted him standing on a chair in Potter's office. He flung the door open and thankfully saw no sign of Potter. Klinger looked behind him and gasped, self-consciously tugging at his skirt with one hand.   
  
"Major, you scared the pants off of me! Literally..."   
  
"I am in no mood for your sophomoric humor! Get down off that chair immediately!"   
  
"Can I finish changing Colonel Potter's lightbulb first? There. You ever hear the joke about how many Lebanese men it takes to screw in a lightbulb?"   
  
"KLINGER!"   
  
"The answer was 13. I'll let you come up with your own punchline."   
  
Charles snarled at him, and he carefully climbed off the chair. "I'll have you know I don't appreciate your coming in here and looking up my skirt when I'm so vulnerably positioned. Shall we go into the sitting room?"   
  
"Klinger, this ends now. I just had the most humiliating conversation with Colonel Potter regarding our relationship."   
  
"You did? What did he say?" Klinger asked, pushing open the door.   
  
"What he said is of no concern to you! I'll simply have you know that you made a complete and utter fool of me parading around in that ridiculous outfit!"   
  
"I made a fool of you?! I didn't even have time to iron my blouse!"   
  
"KLINGER!"   
  
Klinger sat down at his desk and leaned back in the chair. "You sure like to say my name."   
  
"K-- Damn it, what is the meaning of this?! Why are you dressed this way?!"   
  
"Everything else was dirty!"   
  
Charles laughed humorlessly. "You expect me to believe that?! What sort of fool are you?!"  
  
"Top-notch, sir. Grade A prime."   
  
"There are rumors all over the camp... and the things they are saying! I've never been so embarrassed in my life! You are truly out to ruin me!"   
  
"Hey! I'm out to ruin YOU? You forget that Major Houlihan saw ME not doing MY job, and just after a promotion too! I'm lucky she didn't run right to Colonel Potter!"   
  
"You imbecile! Of course she didn't run to Colonel Potter! She was too busy hooting derision at me and drawing ridiculous conclusions!"   
  
"Conclusions? Like what?"   
  
"Oh, the most socially unacceptable ones, of course! That deviant woman... what's going on in her twisted little mind?!"   
  
"Wait... socially unacceptable?! You mean..."   
  
"YES!! The mere thought of it... makes me want to vomit! Do you realize what this will do to my career... my entire LIFE if some ignoramus lets this out?!"   
  
"Well, Major, there's nothing to worry about, is there? I mean, there's nothing to let out, right?" Klinger asked quietly.   
  
"What?!"   
  
"I mean.... it isn't as if it was *true*, after all."   
  
"Why... of course not! How dare you even imply such a thing?! Of course it.. it's not TRUE!"   
  
"Right. So, so there's no problem. Major Houlihan was just making a joke. It'll blow over. No big deal." Klinger said it soberly and looked at the desk.   
  
Charles was silent for a moment. "Well... yes. I suppose you're right."   
  
"Mm-hmm."   
  
"Well, goodness, man! Be relieved!"   
  
"Oh... I will be, sir."   
  
Charles looked at him quizzically. "Klinger... what's the matter?"   
  
"Nothing's the matter."   
  
"Oh... well... for god's sake, why don't you take off that ridiculous getup and we can forget this whole thing? If we show that we're big enough men to let it go, then Major Houlihan will have no choice to do the same. And the sooner I can walk through the camp without hearing giggling, the better."   
  
"Sir... just out of curiosity, what is it that Colonel Potter said to you?"   
  
Charles shifted uncomfortably. "It.. you don't want to know that.."   
  
"Sure I do."   
  
"Well I'd sooner die than tell you!"   
  
"You want to know what he told me, then?"   
  
Charles looked at him in surprise. "What he told you?!"   
  
"Yeah."   
  
"Certainly. What did he tell you?"   
  
Klinger turned to him and crossed his legs demurely. He took off his nurses' cap and rested one elbow on the desk.   
  
"Well, he told me that when he was in WWI, there were two men that he worked with in the hospital. One of them was a doctor; a big-city man who'd been drafted and was miserable. The other one was a corpsman who'd also been drafted, and would give anything to get home. On the outside, they had only their desire to go home in common, and at first they, you know.. they really hated each other. Over time, though, as things got worse and worse, they grew to be really good friends. You know, back at home they'd probably never have crossed paths except maybe in a car accident or on a train.. but it got so that every single night, they'd meet in the same place, drink until they couldn't swallow and just talk. Talk all night."   
  
Charles frowned.   
  
"Anyway, the war ended, and after the war they decided they'd meet up someplace, have a drink and talk about the old days. So, they met at this bar, and they talked all night, just like old times. In the morning, the doctor had to catch the train back home, but he decided instead to stay behind. The two of them bought a ranch, it turns out, but one day they had an argument about expenses, and they parted ways, never to meet again. It turned out later on that the corpsman was a compulsive gambler and he bet the entire ranch in a game of craps, so when the guy he lost it to came by to take over the ranch, he found the corpsman hanging in the stable, barely alive. He asked the corpsman, 'Why do you want to kill yourself? It's just a ranch!' The corpsman managed to choke out a few words, and they stayed with the guy his entire life. Do you know what he said?"   
  
Charles shook his head, mesmerized at the coloquial, but refined nuance of this tragic tale.   
  
"He said..." Klinger took a deep breath. "'Calling all cars, calling all cars- Jane hasn't finished her milk!!'"   
  
Klinger let the words slide off his tongue importantly, and a heavy silence fell over the duo. Klinger closed his eyes and folded his hands, then he finished.   
  
"You know... because the lack of oxygen had gotten to his brain, and uh... he died a few seconds later."   
  
Charles looked at him with shock, not at all sure how to proceed.   
  
After a moment, he decided that nothing said irritation like a good dose of irate self-righteousness.   
  
"Klinger... pray tell, what does that have to do with us?!"  
  
  
  
Klinger opened his eyes and gave him a quizzical look. "With us? Nothing."   
  
"P...Pardon me?!"   
  
"Well, Major... I said I'd tell you what he told me. But I never said I'd tell you what he said about us. I haven't even talked to him about us."   
  
"Klinger..." Charles growled, his eyes filling with rage.  
  
"Well, I thought it was a really great story, myself. It had it all... intrigue, romance, a slam-bang surprise ending! I laughed, I cried..."   
  
"Klinger, Colonel Potter thinks we're romantically involved as well!!" Charles blurted out, aghast at how the sergeant could be so cavalier about it.   
  
"He does?"   
  
"INDEED!"   
  
"Huh."   
  
"'Huh'?! Klinger, he urged me to take steps to keep it a secret! He told me that sometimes army romances leak out, and that he knew gentlemen who... oh!" He sunk down onto the desk and put his head in his hands.   
  
"Major, we just talked about this. It'll all blow over!"   
  
"But I don't understand!"   
  
"Understand what?"   
  
"How... how it could have happened in the first place! I am a Winchester... I did not think I was even.. even CAPABLE of... blushing. It's absurd! The colonel even regaled me with a stale platitude about his courting of Mrs. Potter!"   
  
"Awwww, that's sweet, sir." Klinger sighed affectionately.   
  
"It is no such thing!!! I am a man of great importance in Boston. As such, I've dined and spent time with some of the loveliest and most prestigious ladies in the world... and never... NEVER has... has this happened before! It's ludicrous!"   
  
"Uh huh." Klinger said indulgently, batting his eyelashes. Charles scoffed and jumped off the desk, pacing.   
  
"I must be ill. Or mad. Perhaps it's distemper! Something in the water! Something in the food... the air.."   
  
"Communist death rays!"   
  
"Yes!--NO!! Be quiet!"   
  
"Just trying to help, sir."   
  
Charles looked at the floor and shook his head. "I feel like such... a fool!"   
  
"Hey, it's not like I'm off scot-free from this, either! Everyone in the camp already thinks I'm a looney toon, and now with this on my record.."   
  
"Oh, come off it! You're enjoying yourself! You see this as some sort of joke, some sort of amusing little skit you're putting on for the entire camp. Well, I'm glad that my public shaming is good for your publicity!"   
  
"That's not true, Major! I don't like this any more than you do! It's irritating as hell to have something like our relationship being thrown around like the tawdry affair of the moment!"  
  
"Our relationship?" Charles repeated dubiously. "Exactly what... do you believe constitutes our 'relationship'?"   
  
"Well... I don't really know, sir. To me... it seems like we both get a lot of pleasure out of berating each other. I personally know there's no better way to start the day than to hear you make some sort of crack about my intelligence or my lack thereof. And when I'm feeling down, I can always manage to find some way to make you furious at me, and it brings a smile to my face every time!"   
  
"It does..?" Charles asked hesitantly. "Or is this just more nonsense designed to lure me into another ridiculous hoax?"   
  
"I resent that!"   
  
"Well, Klinger, what's to resent? Not a word that comes out of your mouth can be trusted!"   
  
"Hey! I tell the truth more often than you think." Klinger said stubbornly, getting to his feet.   
  
"That... wouldn't take much."   
  
"Okay! Okay... maybe I do tend to fabricate.. er... things. It's just in my nature!"   
  
"Is that so?"   
  
"Well... some of the things I say don't exactly lend themselves to sincerity."   
  
"For example...?"   
  
"If I were to say that you're the last thing I think about before I go to sleep at night, and the first thing I think about in the morning. If I were to say that I've spent hours dreaming about what it would be like to touch you and to feel you touch me.. to be able to look at you any time I want and know that there would be more for me to look forward to than just delivering your mail or serving you a drink. Because I know, Major, that if I were to say that sincerely, you'd think I was a lunatic. So... I don't."   
  
He lowered his head and shrugged, not meeting Charles' eyes. Had he looked up, he would have seen a slow realization flashing in their blue depths, and he would have felt a heavy exhale that cut through the room like a knife.  
  
"I guess the way I see it... the only way I can say what I really mean is to say it as if I don't mean it. I can't act like I want to be taken seriously... you know what I mean?"   
  
"Oh... my god. Klinger... I.. this had better not be a joke. I will kill you if..."   
  
"Major, I've never spoken more serious words in my life."   
  
"You're really serious?! My god, you really mean it." Charles shook his head slowly.   
  
"Yeah. I never thought it'd come out this way, though..."   
  
"The best laid plans of mice and men go oft astray..."   
  
"Is... um... that good, or what?"   
  
Charles shot him his best condescending, long-suffering glare, and then he found himself smiling.   
  
"I must admit... that your unpolished, carefree demeanor is... oddly endearing. And what I said earlier about you being a good person, I did mean that. There are not many left in the world, it seems. And.. despite my strenuous objections... it would seem that I'm experiencing some rather unorthodox emotions about you." He sighed and his eyes were alive with an abashed exuberance.   
  
"Major... oh... really??" Klinger cried, momentarily lapsing into "exhilarated female impression" mode. He stopped himself and took a deep breath, wondering how exactly he *should* respond.  
  
"Perhaps... the colonel did have a point." Charles said softly. "Klinger... do you think... you can keep your 'acts' up?"   
  
"Why, sir!" Klinger exclaimed, holding out an invisible fan. "I'll do anything you ask of me!"   
  
"Not right now, you fool. In public."   
  
"Sir, are you talking reverse psychology? That got me in trouble once before, so I recall... Cleopatra outfit ring a bell?"   
  
"Never mind that... never mind that. Instead... why don't we test... er.. test out.. the feelings we've so blithely suppressed up until this point."   
  
He said it so surely that Klinger's heart pounded and he felt so much excitement and happiness rising in himself that he was amazed his body could contain all of it.   
  
Slowly, then, he walked closer to Charles, his heels clicking on the floor. This time, their eyes were locked on each other; Charles' cultured, light blue eyes full of an almost childlike wonder that was the only factor that served to betray his collected exterior, in stark contrast to Klinger's deep brown eyes that expressed the bare truth and surrendered themselves eagerly.   
  
A moment later, they stood close enough to touch, and Klinger hesitated for a second, wondering if any of this was real, hoping desperately that he wouldn't find himself alone in bed in a moment, clutching his pillow close to him and cursing the sunlight streaming through the window.   
  
Charles pushed forward and put his hand on Klinger's shoulder, just as he'd done that morning. This time, Klinger drew closer and softly put his hand on top of Charles'. With meaning in every gesture, he slid his other hand along the taller man's face and then leaned his head against Charles' chest.   
  
They stayed like that for a few seconds, and then Charles removed his hand from klinger's shoulder and pulled his body in, holding him tightly, his face almost buried in Klinger's soft black hair. They were almost afraid to speak, both secretly fearful that something inside of them would suddenly snap and they'd remember that they were so different, maybe too different to feel this way about one another.   
  
The night went on, though, and the worry they both bore never came to pass. Although they knew that before the end of the evening someone would undoubtedly be in and they would inevitably have to part company, for the time being nothing of the sort mattered. Nothing at all mattered, except for the two of them. The two of them and a love they'd discovered just such a short time ago.  
  
Thus ended the first full day following the promotion of Sergeant Maxwell Q. Klinger.   
  
*** 


End file.
